As he usually did upon entering a room, Marchmont paused to size up the situation. Even now, after the bottle or two or three, his gaze was not as sleepy as it appeared to be.
He saw:
Lexham standing in front of the fire, looking ready to tear his hair out.
Lady Lexham fluttering upon the chaise longue, in her best dying moth imitation.
At the large central table, the four married Lexham daughters, all in black, a color particularly depressing in women of their complexion. As usual, the two eldest appeared to suffer from an obstruction of the bowels. As usual, the two younger ones suffered the consequences of a lively conjugal life. They looked ready to drop brats any minute now—twins or ponies, judging by their circumference.
and at the window…
…a girl with a book in her lap.
A girl with golden hair and startled blue eyes, the bluest eyes in all the world, set in a heart-shaped face, all creamy white and pink…
That was as far as Marchmont got. He was aware of his own eyes widening and a curious galloping sensation in his chest and a feeling of being set on fire, then thrown into a deep pool of water. He was equally aware of the way the pink in her cheeks deepened and the way her shoulders went back while he stared and the way the movement drew his attention downward to a figure with the elegant curves of a statue of Venus he’d seen somewhere or other.
All of this happened so quickly that it disrupted the already uncertain connection between his tongue and his brain. Even at the best of times, he might speak first and think later. At present, thanks to the bottle or two or three, his mind was in a thickish haze.
He said, “Ye gods, it’s true. That dreadful girl is back.”
“Marchmont.”
The masculine voice uttering his name in a familiar, patient tone made him blink. He climbed out of the very deep pool and into the present. He tore his gaze from the girl and aimed it at his former guardian.
Lexham’s expression had changed to one all too recognizable: a mixture of exasperation and affection and something else the Duke of Marchmont chose not to put a name to.
“Thank you, sir, I should indeed like a glass—or ten—of something,” Marchmont said, though he knew perfectly well that Lexham was not offering a drink. The duke recognized all of his former guardian’s tones of voice. When he said “Marchmont” in that way, it meant,Recollect your manners, sir.
Nonetheless, His Grace persisted, as he often did, in willfully misunderstanding. “Something strong, I think,” he went on. “I find myself in need of a bracer.”
Zoe.Here. Alive. It wasn’t possible. Yet it must be, because there she was.
He looked at her again.
She looked right back at him, up and down, down and up.
The back of his neck prickled. He was used to women eyeing him. This sort of survey usually occurred, however, in gatherings of the demimonde or in a private corner of an ostensibly respectable social event. It did not happen in the open in an unquestionably respectable domestic setting.
He was not disconcerted. Nothing disconcerted him. Disoriented was more like it. Perhaps he should have had a little less to drink before coming here. Or perhaps he hadn’t had enough.
“But of course you want something to steady your nerves, dear,” said Lady Lexham. “I fainted dead away when I saw our Zoe.”
This didn’t surprise him. The calamity of twelve years ago had sent Lady Lexham into a dangerous decline. While she did recover physically, she did not recover the steadiness and strength of mind she’d once possessed, though he was not sure she’d ever possessed great stores of either quality. These days her ladyship spent much of her time agitated, swooning, or trembling—sometimes all three at once.
At the moment, he himself felt oddly light-headed. “Zoe, indeed,” he said. “So it is.”
He made himself meet the assessing blue gaze again.
The girl smiled.
It was and it wasn’t Zoe’s smile, and for some reason the image of a crocodile came into his mind.
“And now I’ve lost a thousand pounds,” he went on, “for I made sure I’d find another Princess Caraboo in your drawing room.”
“Good grief!” cried one of the sisters.
“Is that what they’re saying?” said another.
